


After Hours

by nine_minutes



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Office Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nine_minutes/pseuds/nine_minutes
Summary: Their office was strictly off limits, they said. Work and play should stay far apart.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 61





	After Hours

\----------------------------

_J Edgar Hoover Building_

_Friday, October 17th - 5:50 PM_

\----------------------------

_Crack_

Another splintered sunflower seed lands on the floor just shy of the wastebasket, joining Mulder's graveyard of other missed three-pointers. 

_Crack_

It had been a light duty week for them, all in all - mostly finalizing field reports and updating their labyrinthian filing system that only made sense to them. Internal accounting was up their asses about "unauthorized expenditures" again, but what else was new? He'll write in his report that, why yes sir, they _did_ need that electromagnetic field reader and EVP recorder to investigate the spectral disturbance. No sir, we could not have predicted the ultimate extent of the property damage as a result of this investigation. No sir, we were not able to recover any evidence of this entity. Skinner would sigh deeply, stamp the report, and then they would be on their way to the next supernatural calamity.

_Crack_

Truth be told, the reprieve had been nice for them. Still unknown to the prying eyes of the upper floor rumor mills, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had been seeing one another in a distinctly _unprofessional_ capacity for a little over two months. They had set some ground rules - no romantic contact on the clock, and definitely none in the field on a case - but, as he could have predicted, that fell apart for them rather quickly. Just wait until internal accounting finds out they're paying for two rooms and only using one. 

_Crack_

Still, work is work, and for the most part they tried to play by the rules. Scully particularly likes to admonish him for his romantic lapses in judgement late at night, when their case keeps them up by the light of a seedy neon motel sign - but she always opens the door and steps aside, anyway. Today, though, they're ten minutes away from being off the clock, and it's been days since they'd been together _unprofessionally_. Mulder suspects this may have been an intentional tease, but he won't read into it. 

_Crack_

Scully emerges from Her Area, flipping closed the file in a stack that she has been studiously reviewing for her case report. Even on these borderline crank cases, there wasn't a 't' left uncrossed or an 'i' left undotted by Special Agent Dana Scully. It was one of many things that he loved about her.

"Mulder, have you done anything this afternoon besides eat those things - loudly - and _ruminate_? Did you finish compiling the receipts from Nebraska?" 

She looked tired. A small pang of guilt hit him, and he offered her his best boyish grin. 5:54PM. 

"Yes ma'am, everything accounted for here," he slapped the top folder on his desk, mostly sure that it was true. "Signed and sealed."

"And your field report?" she added, this time with a softer edge.

Mulder reclined back in his chair and popped another seed into his mouth, working over the salty exterior with his tongue. 

"Mostly ready, minus a few details I may have accidentally-on-purpose omitted from the written record. Namely, the verbal contact with the entity...which you were unconscious for." 

" _Alleged_ verbal contact, Mulder. That could have been a lot of things - namely, that nasty concussion that you suffered in the pursuit. You know I can't put something like that in my report." 

Silence fell between them for a moment, and she added, genuinely, "I'm sorry."

Solemnly nodding his understanding, he leaned forward and cleared off the corner of the desk nearest his chair, patting it in invitation. 5:58PM. 

_Crack_

"Take a load off, Scully. You doing okay? You seem...I don't know, tired. Or mad. Whichever it is, can you just tell me?" 

Sighing, she sets her papers down on top of the cabinet and makes her way to his desk, perching gingerly on the newly-cleared corner and crossing her legs. Mulder is reclined in his chair again, knees spread out in front of him with his hands folded behind his head. His ugly tie is already loosened and his sleeves are rolled up his forearms in that way that he knows she likes. He looks damn good, she'll give him that.

"I don't know, Mulder. Doesn't it sometimes feel like we're running in place? I've seen too much that I can't explain to dismiss the possibilities, but where is our evidence? Where is our hard proof?" The eternal question, as elusive as the shadows they chase. She casts her eyes down and shakes her head. "I think I'm just tired. I need a hot bath and a good night's sleep."

"I can help you with those things," he says through exaggerated waggling eyebrows, ignoring her rolling eyes. 6:00PM. "In fact, as of now, we are off of Uncle Sam's radar for the next two days. We can get the weekend started a little early, if you want." 

He reaches for her, tracing a lazy pattern on her knee with his index finger before trailing down to grip her calf. She's got great legs - maybe from all those years of running after ghosts and goblins with him. He's not shy about his appreciative glance, and he _loves_ how it always makes her blush, like she is right now.

"Let me help you relax, Scully. I want to make you feel good." 

Scully gaped at him, dumbfounded, but couldn't hide the way the corner of her lips curled up at her partner's wildly irresponsible suggestion. Her voice dropped to just above a whisper, as if anyone who mattered could hear them from all the way down in their basement exile.

"Here? In the office? Mulder, that's crazy, even for you. We're going to get caught."

A valid concern, he mused, but not one that either of them thought terribly realistic - not after 6:00 PM on a Friday night in the cobwebbed basement of the Hoover, and certainly not judging by the way she was flushing now. He placed another sunflower seed between his teeth, unflinching. 

"So lock the door, then.

_Crack_

"Only if you want to, of course." 

Scully's eyes narrowed, sizing him up. He was serious, she realized, heat rising to her cheeks again; The basement office was their strictest No Contact Zone - no touching allowed that wouldn't be sanctioned by the good, old-fashioned F.B.I. human resources department. Of course she had thought about it - but that's a step too far. Right?

She pretends to consider declining for a moment, if only to convince herself of her own due diligence in discipline. 

Standing coolly, she straightens her skirt, then slowly, deliberately, walks to the door, heels clicking pointedly on the tile with each step. She turns the deadbolt. 

Mulder sat up straight in his chair, resting an elbow on each armrest and following her with his eyes while she made her way back to him. This was really happening. 

Stopping in front of his chair again, she paused, waiting, examining. He spoke after a moment, his mouth drier than he remembered a moment ago. 

"What do you want, Scully? Tell me what you need."

Another beat. She stood still before him, looking almost disinterested, deciding the next move. This really _was_ happening. 

Reaching down an outstretched arm, she flips her heels off with a finger, one foot at a time, cool and detached. And then came the pantyhose. 

"Fuck," Mulder hisses under his breath, "Scully…"

She hikes up her skirt, just enough for a brief glimpse, and straddles his lap, resting her weight - her bare, hot weight - directly on his groin. Weaving her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, she looks down into his waiting expression, pulls her shoulders back, and pushes her chest out towards his face. 

"Touch me, Mulder...please."

How polite. Sure hands run up the sides of her blouse, tracing her figure through the starched fabric. This would never, ever, in a million years lose its novelty, he thought, tilting his head back and finding her mouth. He kisses her softly while he works the buttons and pushes the fabric back off of her shoulders, leaving it crumpled in a pile at his feet with the discarded pantyhose. She's soft and compliant above him, eyes closed, grinding her pubic bone into his; then, she's licking the salt from his lips with that sharp little tongue of hers, and it makes him want to roll his eyes back into his head. Reaching behind her, he unhooks her bra and watches it fall away to reveal her perfect chest. A few days apart, and he was already like a thirsty man in the desert. 

Wrapping his arms low and tight around her waist, he pulls the skin of her stomach flush to him and sucks one pink nipple into his mouth, laving over it with his tongue and tweaking it with his teeth. She moaned at this, savoring the mix of pain and pleasure as she ground down onto him. Mulder was hard by now, his erection hot and straining against the front of his pants. He slides his hands down to her ass, kneading, squeezing, deftly guiding her motions against him; she's making a very visible mess on the front of his good work pants, but she can't seem to care right now. She knows she can cum like this, and thinks he could, too - but there's one fantasy she's finally ready to satisfy. 

She husks low into his ear, nipping at his lobe: "Desk. Please, Mulder…"

He slides his mouth off of her breasts with a wet pop and somewhat reluctantly loosens his grip on her behind, allowing her to gingerly detangle her knees from his chair and stand. She turns then, eyes dark now with lust, and bends cat-like, front-first over his desk. 

Mulder stands and takes her in: milky skin and fiery red hair, spread out over her neck and his papers, waiting expectantly for him. Her skin ripples with goosebumps when he runs his fingertips down her sides, catching the zipper of her skirt and pulling it down. She steps out of it obediently. 

_Fuck. Okay._

Her thighs are pushed apart by an insistent knee and she feels him step up behind her, his cock pressing hot and hard against the curve of her ass through his slacks. Front teeth sink into her lower lip, biting back the smile of the cat who got the mouse; she felt more like the mouse right now, but sometimes, that's what she needed. She wanted to feel possessed, and valued. Safe to relinquish the control that burdened her, and to simply let herself feel. 

Mulder's hands flatten on the soft hills of her shoulder blades, for a moment almost reverent, before digging fingers dragged valleys down the skin of her back, smoothing his way downwards and pressing her chest into the cool wood of the desk. She keened when they arrived at her hips, his solid vise grip holding her in place as he rocked his length along her crease. Scully takes this opportunity to wiggle her ass against him, earning her a huff of approval as he bends over her, arms bracketing her sides. He flattens his still-clothed chest to her back and lays nipping kisses down the column of her neck, soothing his tongue over the marks as he goes. He's so much bigger than she is; he surrounds her and overwhelms her, filling her personal space with a welcome and heavy warmth. Toes barely scraping the floor, she arches further into him with what little leverage she has and twists her neck for better access, letting the feeling of his hot mouth and panting breath and grinding cock overtake her. Her breath is ragged and humid against the desk, cool on her skin when her head _thumps_ down softly.

Suddenly, his ministrations cease and she feels him nuzzling her cheek, searching for her face. The look of raw, heartbreaking reverence and concern that she found when she opened her eyes to meet his was almost enough to make a grown woman cry. Almost. 

"You okay?" he whispers gently, earnestly, only for her to hear in this small sacred space between them. She lets herself smile this time, tilts her chin up a little defiantly, and kisses the tip of his nose. 

"Just wondering if you're going to fuck me anytime soon."

Apparently satisfied with her answer, Mulder flashes her a rare, toothy grin and thrusts against her roughly, jolting her forward and into a stack of now-scattering papers that they really should have moved before. C'est la vie. 

Open-mouthed kisses leave a chilled trail on her skin as he moves down her spine, pausing at her lower back. Eyes rake over the vivid reds, greens, and blues of the ouroboros there - her permanent token of rebellion, of desperation. He wants to hate it. He wants to hate it like he hates Ed Jerse, and how he hated the confusion and the anger inside her when the ink bled into her skin that night, but he can't. _I am alive_ , it says, choking endlessly on its own tail, _and I am Forever_. The manifestation of her sisyphean fate. 

She shudders under his palms when he presses the flat of his tongue to the serpent, drags it through the sweat and pain and love there, claiming it, and claiming her. She doesn't have to carry it alone, anymore. Not ever again.

One hand slides from the globe of her ass and they both groan when his fingers drag through her slick folds to her center. She's dripping for him and he hasn't even undressed yet, he notes with no small ego. He allows himself a moment of juvenile pride that _he_ is the one who can do this to the formidable and meticulous Dr. Dana Scully. 

"God, Scully, you're so fucking wet already. So good for me..." he murmured, one thick finger circling lazily at her entrance. She mewled pathetically in response, sinking further onto the desk and arching up to meet him. Her hips buck back onto his hand when he finally pushes two fingers inside her and starts pumping slowly, covering her lower back with his other hand and pinning her in place. He can't help himself: " _Somebody's_ certainly eager tonight."

She might have protested this latest indignity had that not been the moment that he pulled his fingers from inside her and dragged them up to her clit, circling her with her own slip. Scully whined and slumped her forehead back onto the desk, loose and lost to the feeling of them as he maintained his rhythm. The air had become thick with their arousal and their deliciously obscene, slick noises of pleasure, occasionally slowed by the danger of approaching footsteps or the buzz of the elevator. There was a certain shared thrill for the hedonism of mixing work with play, of violating their most private space, and the risk of discovery. They had promised they wouldn't - only off case, off hours, and off work grounds, they said. What did that last, two weeks? She'll say it's his fault, but he knows she loves it just as much as he does. He curls a finger inside her, earning him another appreciative moan. Her breath is becoming more shallow and erratic, and he knows she's close. 

The sound of his belt buckle and zipper cut through the haze and Scully raises her hips again expectantly, encouraging him with a dazed smile over her shoulder. God, he loves her. She watches him pump himself twice in his hand, running his thumb through the pre-cum and over his shaft, before settling his hips on her ass and rubbing the hot, velvety head of his cock around her opening, coating himself. He bends over and covers her again, capturing her mouth in a wet, biting kiss before thrusting forward harshly, sheathing himself in one stroke. They both groan in unison, adjusting, savoring, and then he starts to move. Slow, languid strokes warm her up and she squeezes around him, impossibly tight and hot. Mulder yanks viciously at his tie, looping it over his head and discarding it - along with his shirt - down onto the dingy tile alongside the rest of their scattered clothing. The view now unobstructed, he looks down and watches, breathless, as he enters her again and again to the rhythm of her short gasps. He knows she's trying to be quiet, bless her soul. She was always the responsible one. 

Scully's hands grasp for purchase over his papers as he works her and he leans forward, easily capturing her small wrists in his large hands, pinning them down just above her head. He wouldn't do it if he didn't already know that she likes him a little bit rough - but she has a thing for authority, and he had no complaints.

Their pace picks up and his head lolls forward, panting harshly down onto her while she writhes and whimpers beneath him. The fluttering around his cock and the flush seeping down her neck tell him she's on the brink again, and he roughly shoves her wrists together, holding them down with one hand before snaking the other below the desk to circle her clit in time with their thrusts. 

"Fuck, Mulder!" she gasps sharply, teeth biting down again on her pouting bottom lip, "don't stop...don't stop..."

 _Yes ma'am_ , he thinks deliriously, though all he can manage in response is a low groan. He could feel the heat coiling dangerously in his gut and his pace becomes punishing; he swears she grips him tighter inside, and she's breathless on the edge. He's not going to last much longer. He crushes himself over her again, breathes hotly behind the shell of her ear, whispers his devotion and desires and promises so wicked that they would make her blush later, in the privacy of her own thoughts - and then, she's rigid on his cock, pulsing around him, screaming silently onto his unfinished field report as the elevator dinged distantly in the hallway. He rides her out, meeting her slowing thrusts until her unfocused eyes drift open and she's panting through smeared lipstick, dazed and sated. He spills inside her then, teeth sunk cruelly into the soft part of her shoulder, and gives her everything he has. 

Ten minutes later, Dana Scully is again the pristine picture of a dutiful agent, touching up the last of her makeup before tucking the vanity back into her purse and smoothing the traitorous wrinkles from her ruined blouse. Mulder once again admires her from the vantage point of his chair, slumped back, pants still hanging around his knees like a gawky teenager, and he has to smile at the comedy of...well, _them_. She smiles back, wordlessly collecting the last of her belongings and snapping shut the clasps on her work bag. This is another one of their famous unspoken conversations, full plays in three acts without words; Who needs those stupid interpersonal communications seminars, anyway? She approaches him in a manner that he could only describe as "sidling," leans down, and delivers an achingly, devastatingly sweet kiss that makes his stomach flip like they weren't just fucking eachother silly over their accounting paperwork and UFO sighting articles. He stretches up, chasing her mouth greedily when she straightens and runs a hand through his hair before turning to go. 

"Same time next week?"


End file.
